


Bitonto Going back home

by Just_Julia



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: CW: pee, Historical Hetalia, I mean it's non graphic in a closet in a bucket, M/M, battle of bitonto, make of that what you will, war of the polish succession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-22
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21894154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_Julia/pseuds/Just_Julia
Summary: "It had been twenty years, yet the moment he saw him it was like the first time again. Every part of him remembered at once his inescapable entanglement with this man: The absence hadn’t removed his shackles; the chain had just gotten longer."Antonio reclaims his territories in South Italy after Austria had taken them in the war of the Spanish succession. Caught between the warring factions like a boat in a maelstrom is the kingdom of Naples himself.
Relationships: Austria/Spain (Hetalia), France/Spain (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Bitonto Going back home

Roderich was an absolute, absolute, nightmare to deal with when he was stressed. Romano had experienced this more than enough the past twenty years; whenever the man was giving a dinner party and had started preparing too late. The house would be a mess, food needed to be cooked and of course none of the guests could see the actual state they lived in. The days before guests would come over Roderich was furiously cleaning and barking commands and orders at Romano to help. At days like that, the only moment of reprieve he'd get was to go get water at the town square and mooch some tobacco of the boys there. 

Today felt similar somehow. Roderich was unprepared, outnumbered, frantic. He'd managed to scramble together a meagre 6000 men. It would not be enough, and he knew it. He'd been commanding Romano to ‘bring him his sword, no not that one, the other one, God you're useless boy! Just go and pack rations and-‘ Romano had listened to him listlessly. He really didn't feel like doing anything, just making sure his civilians didn't get hurt in the squabble.

He'd been sent out to go deliver some letters to the captain of the guard but on the way back he stalled... Why should he go back to that house? To be shouted at? Instead, he bought himself roasted chestnuts and climbed the stairs in the old bell tower of the chiesa di San Francesco d’Assisi, finding a comfortable hiding spot with a view amongst the parapets. His eyes fixed on the horizon and his limbs tingled with anticipation. He was coming. He couldn't see anything yet, but he knew: 12000 Spanish troops were just beyond the horizon. A strange feeling took hold of him. He'd been so numb lately, so apathetic to all this mess. Spain had been too broken to even acknowledge him when he left; seemingly enthralled by France and just- tired and sick. When Roderich had taken him, telling him that Spain was in no shape to take care of him, Romano knew that was the truth. But the Austrian had overestimated his own state of mind. He was keeping his head held up high, a strong and composed front for anyone to see. But Romano had to live with him and had to witness exactly how thin that veneer was. By now he'd cleaned about everything of the kitchen floor- broken plates, blood, vomit. He started to feel like he was the only adult here. He wasn't even certain if Spain had ever even thought about him after he'd been led out of his house. Years had passed afterwards and that had just confirmed for him that Spain hadn't even really noticed he was gone. He didn't want it to- but it had broken his heart a little. So those garrisons beyond the horizon breathed new life into a piece of him that he'd so diligently killed. He'd come for him. Yet he wasn’t just yearning, the advent of Spain would bring war to his town, so he dreaded it in equal amounts. From his hiding spot, he could see the monks in adjacent cloister rush about supplies so it could be used as a hospital for the inevitable wounded. It never ceased to be curious to him that the seagulls and doves would just soar over it all and nest here with him in the bell tower, over Spanish troops, over stubborn Austrians, and over Italian blood to be shed. They were just, above it all. As long as he was up here, in a way, he could be above it as well.

When Antonio would eventually cross the hills surrounding Bittonto and reach the town, the image of Romano eating chestnuts in the bell tower wasn’t what greeted him. Roderich had eventually noticed his charge had been missing for too long and had him dragged back to the house and, after that, to the city wall's defences. Romano got outfitted in some almost offensively basic armour and had a musket pressed into his hands. At daybreak, he was made to stand next to Austria when their cavalries and Antonio’s were facing each other. Roderich stubbornly declared that the people of South Italy didn't welcome the Spanish and that Spain was to leave at once. He elbowed Romano and he repeated the words without much heart. The face of Romano, who was standing next to Roderich- supposedly to make Antonio feel like Romano no longer wanted to be in his care- spoke volumes: ‘Please Antonio don't kill too many civilians and I'll gladly return to you’. He looked like what he was: a defiant teenager being made to stand somewhere and say something by an overbearing parent.  
Antonio turned a hard gaze to his ex-husband and smirked as he rose to the challenge. He didn’t say anything and just stepped closer to Roderich, who in a moment of weakness fidgeted with the ring on his right hand that he was still wearing. Satisfied with the reaction Antonio spat on the ground and turned his back as they both drew back into their ranks. 

Watching a battle like this take place was an incredibly tense affair. Romano was stationed at the city walls, near the Porte Baresana, and was gripping his musket as he watched the Spanish cavalry perform feints. Antonio was provoking Roderich, trying to get him to react, trying to get him to break formation. There was a certain art to this game of strategy but he could only see it in theory later back in the studies of learned men during peacetime, here in the moment however he could only count the seconds until he’d get pulled into the chaos of combat.  
It didn’t take long for Roderich to take the bait; the sun was barely peeking over the olive groves on the surrounding hills when the cavalry broke. It had started. Romano loaded his musket in case he had to defend himself, not knowing if that would be against Spaniard or Austrian and watched Roderich’s neatly lined up cavalry ranks devolve into a disorganised scrambling mess. It was poetic somehow; this was the effect Antonio always had on Roderich. So often had Romano watched how all the refined order Roderich portrayed to the world would come undone and unravel at Antonio’s smallest provocation. 

Then, one by one he could see riders break away from the group and disappear into the hills. “Accidenti! They’re fleeing!” He shouted to the soldier next to him, but also just half to himself. Roderich’s army was crumbling and fleeing in the direction of Bari. Romano leaned further over the balustrade, trying to see what happened but a cannon fired, and the infantry opened fire, causing thick clouds of gunpowder and smoke to obscure the view of the battle taking place in the valley. He ran down the wooden stairs of the temporary scaffolding that had been put up along the city wall to go and find a better viewpoint, but the moment he got down, the city gate burst open and Austrian soldiers rushed in. Amongst them was Roderich on horseback, smeared with soot and looking like a cornered animal about to jump. He spotted Romano instantly and grabbed his shirt. Romano got pulled close against the horse. The boy was nervous to be that close to the large animal in such a chaotic environment, it could trample him if it got spooked. Roderich leaned close so he could shout instructions at him over the noise of the battle and the chaos in town.

“I’m going to get reinforcements- defend the down! I’ll be back soon I promise.”

In a moment of forced parental affection, Roderich patted his head and smiled at him. “I have faith in you, you can do it!” He then let go and turned his horse. When he galloped out, Romano saw that Guiseppe Antonio, Prince of Belmonte, the commander of the Austrian troops followed him. They were without a leader in here, no general left to instruct the Austrian forces still within the walls.  
Romano ran the moment Roderich was out of sight, to hide, to keep himself safe. He was so done with cleaning up the mess these two had made of themselves. He was so done fighting Roderich’s battles. Still the Austrian soldiers, despite being without a leader showed no intention to surrender. Jogging as far from the battle as his heavy, clunky, slightly too large, armour permitted. Romano found an empty garrison building he could wait out the siege in. To his joy, he found an abandoned bottle of wine and a supply closet, perfect. To the devil with courage: this wasn’t his fight. He was just a leaf in the wind being blown around mercilessly by the powers of Europe, he might as well lament his fate with a bottle in hand, getting drunk. It also hurt less if you get shot when you’re drunk, he knew by experience, it numbs everything. 

Halfway through the bottle, Romano got up to piss. A little unsteady, he made his way to the window and peeked outside to see if it was safe to find an alley or latrine. Oh, fuck no it wasn’t, soldiers were running around, and bullets were flying, he’d have to find an alternative. He searched the building a bit but didn’t dare to go too far from his supply closet: A stray bullet going through the windows could still hit him. He crawled on all fours to another door and opened it. It was another supply closet but this one was filled with ammunition… Oh, and a bucket thank god. Romano crawled in and closed the closet door. He stood up and unbuttoned his fly, let out a sigh of relief and started. As he was doing his business he started casually looking around at the closet, and then a great idea came to him. Great ideas tend to strike when you’re in the bathroom (or in this case a closet?), especially if they’re coming from that place of ‘not quite drunk but definitely beyond tipsy’ state of mind. There was a way to end this stupid battle without having to fight either the Spanish or the Austrian soldiers.  
With a shit-eating grin, he tucked himself away and took two kegs of gunpowder under his arms. He cracked the door open just enough so that he could look outside of it. Once he saw a clear line, he took a sprint and found the cesspit behind a block of houses. He tore open the barrels and dumped them in. He paused and then threw some water on it as well, can’t have that stuff blowing. He made the same run five more times, dumping round musket bullets, gunpowder and lint into the cesspit and then dumped a wheelbarrow full of manure on it to hide it. Exhausted he wandered over to a tree and sat down. Night had fallen and the fighting had seized. He sat there and almost fell asleep from exhaustion, but he eventually got cold and dragged himself home. The armour clattered to the floor and Romano stumbled to his bed. He passed Austria’s empty room, the bigger and more luxurious one. For a moment he contemplated sleeping there, but he knew he’d be uncomfortable doing so. He just took the down feather-filled pillows and then went to his simple cot. 

The next morning, he dragged himself back to the front line, in armour, to see how the situation was progressing. The highest-ranking soldiers were discussing strategy in rapid German and Romano stifled a yawn. They had already started giving commands for the soldiers to take positions and the fighting to resume when a young Italian mercenary working for the Austrians came sprinting towards them. “Stop! Stop wait! We are all out of ammunition!” Confused murmurs rose through camp. Accusations were thrown left and right, but yesterday had been chaos, everyone had been shooting everything and no one had exactly kept count. After a tense silence they realised there was no way to salvage this, they had to surrender. Romano showed no emotion, even feigned some surprise but oh, his relief was immense. His plan had worked. 

Romano removed himself from the command tent and marched himself back into the city centre, sitting on the steps of the Cathedral, waiting. He could see the white flags rising on the watchtowers and there were some very tense minutes of silence before, with an utter cacophony, the Spanish army poured into the streets. They were not killing or plundering to his great relief. Then he saw him, slowly emerging out of the crowds. He saw Antonio before the other saw him. On horseback he rose above everything, first, he could see a glimpse of him and as he approached, he was revealed to Romano like the sun slowly emerging from the clouds and equally radiant. The moment those green eyes locked with his Romano felt his chest contract with a painful surge of emotion. Antonio looked better than he’d seen him look in fifty years, gone was the sickly crumbling empire, and returned to him was that brazen, youthful Achilles. It had been twenty years, yet the moment he saw him it was like the first time again. Every part of him remembered at once his inescapable entanglement with this man: The absence hadn’t removed his shackles; the chain had just gotten longer. Their eyes met and Antonio smiled. Of course, he’d be smiling, he’d won after all, always getting his way, that man. 

Romano threw his hair out of his face and looked up at the other with a defiant smirk. He was the first to speak and threw a casual and uninterested sounding greeting at the occupying nation. Anything to hide that he was trembling. 

“Ciao, so… what have you been up to? Haven’t seen you around these parts for a while. Was the food bad last time or-”

He couldn’t finish his little charade of uninterested chatter because with a loud clatter of armour Antonio had swung himself off his horse and landed in front of him cutting him off with the sheer noise the metal made. Before he knew it, strong arms pulled him to his feet and into a tight embrace. Romano initially stiffened but slowly allowed himself to ease into it. He would’ve given a lot for this embrace in the past, had it come earlier. Had it come before he had learnt to know better than to have expectations. He tried to draw back because if he stayed there longer he would lose control of his volatile heart but found he couldn’t. The strong arms tightened when he tried, and he found he wasn’t as much embraced as that he was captured. His cheeks flushed red in frustration, instantly recalling that this was the way things were again: Everything was on Antonio’s terms, it was imitated on his terms and it didn’t end until he had gotten what he wanted. 

“Mi Nápules, don’t be so cold- I came back for you! I tried before but I wasn’t strong enough yet. I should run into that cathedral behind us right now and thank God on my knees for returning you to me.” 

Still, the grasp did not relent. Antonio’s eyes were firmly on the Romanesque cathedral behind Romano’s back as he kept talking.

“Of course, Roderich isn’t completely defeated yet, he’s regrouping in Bari.”

He squeezed harder, possessively, it almost hurt.

“Technically you’re still his territory. I suppose you should still aid him in the next phase of the battle…But I don’t think you want to. Come let’s go pray and go home, your house here! I want to see it!” 

And like that it was all decided for him, while he was muzzled, any opinion he’d might want to express muted as his face was pressed into Spain’s shoulder. When he could finally breathe again, blinking against the light of the returning, bright Italian sunlight he was already being pulled along into the cathedral so God himself could seal his fate and seal this reunion.


End file.
